Not Yet Broken
by saltycrow
Summary: "Things had changed. But he could not point out the exact moment when they had." Follows the lives of Crixus and Naevia, how they learned, how they changed, how they dreamed. Despite everything.


**AN: Hi! This fic has been published on AO3 and on my tumblr before, but I thought I might as well put it up here as well :)**

Things had changed. But he could not point out the exact moment when they had.

 _Slavery_. It had been something Crixus knew of, but he never thought he would find himself being a slave. He tried fighting it, tried fighting for his freedom, tried to follow his brothers to the afterlife. He could still hear them screaming, in his dreams, sometimes even when he was awake. But Crixus was the youngest and had never been as skillful with a sword as his brothers had been. They went to the afterlife, screaming, but with smiles on their faces. And Crixus was shipped to Rome, sold, whipped, punished for how he fought back.

Things took a better turn when he arrived to Capua. He didn't much care for the city. It was dry and full of sand. But he was a slave, he had no choice, for if he had, he'd be back in Gallia, where it was green and everything around you was alive. Here everything was dead. When he looked into the eyes of another slave standing next to him, the only thing he saw was death. The slave yet drew breath, but his eyes were dead, he had lost all hope. Crixus promised himself he would never look like that slave, the slave with dead eyes. A living corpse. He would make something of his life before the afterlife would claim him, and when it would, he'd be happy to go.

 _Ludus._ It was a strange word. Crixus had mastered Latin quite quickly, but there were still some words he did not recognize. He had heard the word spoken, knew what it meant, but had not really grasped the concept. He had not known what it stood for. He had not known of the glory, the fame, the honor. He had not known of the sands. But he learned. And he wanted it. He looked at his countryman, Gannicus, and yearned for it. Yearned for the purpose that the sands would give him. He clung to it, like his life depended on it. And in some ways it did. Crixus knew he needed this, he needed a purpose, so he would not end up standing dead and yet still living.

 _The mark of the brotherhood._ It stung on his arm, but he did not care. He had earned the mark, unlike those few who had trained with him when he was just a common slave, when he was not yet a gladiator. Ashur, the Syrian. He held no love for his _brother._

 _Blood and Sand_. That was his life, his purpose. It was his everything, it was why he still drew breath. Every victory, for the glory of Capua, for the glory of house Batiatus. Every victory would bring Crixus glory. The people of Capua chanting his name. _Crixus, Crixus, Crixus!_ The Undefeated Gaul, the Champion of Capua.

 _The girl on the balcony_. He has seen her before, but has not really noticed her. He doesn't know what makes him notice her. She is just another house slave.

But he does notice her. The girl from the balcony, the girl he sees standing behind her Domina when he severs the head of Arnoch of Tarquin. He has his victory, his glory, but his eyes will not leave the woman standing behind their Domina. He is mesmerized.

 _Spartacus._ The whole business with the Thracian scum has disturbed the house. The Thracian will never be a real gladiator, not even when he will earn his mark. The Thracian does not care for the glory the sands could bring. When Crixus looks into his wild eyes, he sees himself, before entering the ludus. But Crixus had learned his purpose. The Thracian would never learn.

But Crixus is glad of the few days of freedom from Domina's touch that Spartacus arrival allows him. Domina is distracted, with all the business with the legatus, and his wife, the fair woman who always smiles at Crixus, greedily. Those few days of freedom, he watches the girl from the balcony, without even knowing her name. How the sun plays with her dark hair, how she stands so still, only seeing her Domina. She never once meets his gaze.

He has not been paying attention to the slaves who escort him to see the Domina. He doesn't care, slaves make no difference to him. But even the Champion of Capua is still a slave. At first his escort to the house had not been the girl from the balcony, there had been a few who came down to the ludus and made the guards open the gates, so Crixus could go and please the Domina. But things changed.

One day it is her, it is her who comes to fetch him from the ludus to the villa. She does not meet his eyes. She watches her feet as she walks five steps ahead of him. And he does not know what to say. He watches her back, its beautiful color, the mark of the Domina on her shoulder, and the collar. The collar around her throat. It makes him mad, it makes him want to rip the shackle from her pretty neck and rip off the head of the one responsible for forcing this woman to carry it, day after day. He ends up saying nothing, fearing that he would say something wrong, something that would make her never to meet his eyes.

Naevia has known no other life. This villa is her home, this is where she was born. Or so she has been told. Naevia does not know of her father, not of her mother. The only family she knows is Diona and their wet nurse, Ida. Naevia and Diona grow up together. They learn what it is to be a slave together. Their mother tongue is Latin, but they also learn Ida's language. She tells them stories of Saxony, her homeland. But the girls never learn where they come from. They can only guess. And it becomes a game for them. Before they go to bed they tell each other make believe stories of their heritage. One night Diona whispers into Naevia's ear that Diona is from the free lands of the North, that she is a princess and her family does not worship Apollo, nor Jupiter, and that they sacrifice humans on the altar of their gods. Naevia does not ask where Diona has heard such tales. And even when she knows it is just a story, she likes to believe it, even with the gruesome human sacrifices.

Naevia does not make up such elaborate stories as Diona does. Instead she thinks of her family, thinks about how they were just a normal family, with cattle, or sheep perhaps. She imagines a man and a woman, with the same tone of skin as hers, but she cannot see their faces. She imagines these faceless people becoming under attack. The man tries to defend the woman but falls to a Roman spear. They keep the mother, take her to Capua, to the house of Batiatus, where she discovers her husband's final gift for her, a babe growing in her belly. And then Naevia is born, taking her mother's life when she enters this world.

It always makes Naevia cry when she thinks of the past she has made up for herself. But it's better than what Ida tells her. Ida only tells her about her mother dying in childbirth. Ida knows nothing of her father, and not much more of her mother, only that she had her eyes. And even then, Naevia cannot trust that what Ida tells her to be the truth. Naevia doesn't tell herself that she's a princess like Diona. She doesn't make up stories in which her real family awaits her. No, it's better not to cling to hope. They are slaves, and they should know their place. Their Domina cares for them.

And suddenly their childhoods are over. Suddenly Naevia knows the true meaning of slavery. She sees it in Diona's eyes. They are dead, flat, lifeless. The fire has been put out and she no longer smiles. She does not speak to Naevia unless it's about something Domina ordered them to do. Diona no longer curls to bed next to Naevia, no longer whispers her about some handsome gladiator that she will surely marry, like Melitta married Oeanomaus. And as awful as it sounds, Naevia thanks the gods every night that it had not been her. She cries every night because it had to be Diona, curses the gods, but at the same time she thanks them, for sparing her, even if for just a little while.

 _The arena._ Diona on her knees. Naevia does not scream, even though she feels like someone is carving her heart right out of her chest. She doesn't make a sound. She stands her ground, waits. Waits to let go. But when the time comes, when she is alone, the anger, the fury, the sadness, the desperation, they all refuse to come. Every emotion has abandoned her. Not even her emotions are hers to control. She has nothing. But even if she has nothing, she sends a silent prayer to the gods. _Please don't turn me into a living corpse, please let me have the strength to get through it, please give me the will to live._

The Undefeated Gaul. The Champion of Capua. _Crixus._ That is his name. And Naevia is careful not to watch. She knows he's there, on the sands, hears his wooden sword against someone else's. But Naevia is careful not to want, careful not to wish, careful not to dream. For the man looks like someone from her dreams, someone who does things to her, someone who sighs her name to her ear and loves her. But it's just a silly fantasy, a silly, _dangerous,_ fantasy. She remembers Diona. She wished, she dreamed, and where did she end up. Dead, bleeding, on the sands. And Naevia wishes to live, but she also wishes to gaze upon him.

Naevia knows what Domina does with him, but she has not yet been forced to see it happen up close. Domina has used other slaves, sparing her innocence, but now she grows more suspicious, paranoid for the chance of discovery. So she sends Naevia. For _him._ And she's careful not to watch. He doesn't say a word.

He doesn't know what to say to her. But he knows he has to talk to her. The third time she has come to fetch him, but he has still stayed silent. He can't stay silent any longer.

"Tell me your name," he says, not meaning to command her, but politeness does not fit well to his tongue. And for the first time, she meets his gaze. It makes him stop, literally. She is the most beautiful woman he has ever seen.

"And why would I do that?" she asks, with a hushed toned. But she has yet not looked away, and she is talking, directly to him. And it makes him smile, it makes him so happy that he almost laughs at himself. The Champion of Capua, weak to his knees because a little slave girl decides to grace him with a look. But he doesn't care, all he wants is for her to keep looking at him.

"So that I know what to call you, that I no longer have to think of you as the girl on the balcony," he answers. For a brief second he thinks she's not going to say anything, for she turns her eyes away from him and looks back to her feet.

"Naevia," she whispers. _Naevia._

She dreams about him. And it makes her blush when she wakes and remembers. His mouth on hers, him between her legs. The good feeling between her tights. She reminds herself not to dream. It is dangerous.

She calls him a fool. And he deserves it. He remembers how hurt he felt when she gave the necklace back. He had been so happy to be able to give her something, to buy her something with his winnings. And then he acts too hasty, doesn't hear her when she tries to tell him the reason for not wearing his gift. Naevia is forever in his thoughts, and returning the necklace breaks his heart to pieces.

But he is a fool. He had not thought of the fact that she would not be able to wear it. And how happy it makes him, to be a fool, instead of her not wanting his gifts. He wants to give her something, something his words cannot express. But he has nothing to give her. He gazes the collar on her neck, the rings on her ankles. _Only if I could give her freedom._

 _Her first kiss._ His lips are so soft. She never imagined finding any softness in him, but his lips are gentle against hers, patient, encouraging. And even though she knows it's foolish, dangerous, she wishes, she dreams. About him, about their lives. About freedom.

 _The games._ That is when he notices the change. When he gives his opponent a glorious death upon the sands. He does not shout out for glory, does not hear the crowd chant his name. He only sees her, on the balcony, smiling at him. Even though she does not favor the games. But her smile. That is what he is fighting for, he realizes. It is no longer for glory, no longer for honor, even if he still enjoys them. He loves the sands, and for a long time he loved nothing else but the sands. But right there, he realizes that something has changed. The sands are no longer his beloved, she is. Everything else seems secondary, meaningless, compared to her smile. _Only if he could see her without her shackles._

She loves him. And doesn't even know when that came to be. One day she just finds herself thinking of how Crixus smiles at her, how he whispers her name to her ear, how he worships her with every touch, how he makes her feel good when he thrusts between her legs, how he spills his seed on the floor, looking happy but still sad at the same time. She loves him, every bit of him.

Even his foolishness. She accepts him, his love for the games, even though she fears for him every time, almost unable to watch. But she doesn't know what to do with that love. They can never truly have each other. They will always be slaves. And sometimes Naevia remembers Melitta, how she was gifted to Oenomaus as a wife. But then she remembers how Domina favors Crixus. That it will never be. It makes her mad, that Domina makes him do things like that, things that he doesn't want to do. He sometimes talks to her about it in whispers, how he hates himself every time he thrusts inside Domina, how he wishes it was Naevia, that he would only do that with her. And Naevia runs her fingers through his hair, whispers to him not to hate himself, for he has no choice, he is given no choice, he has to obey. She tells him that she wishes Domina would stop, so that he would not have to do such things without his will. _Rape,_ Naevia thinks to herself. Remembers Diona's face, her broken eyes. But Crixus isn't broken, not yet at least.

"I love you."

"I love you. I love you so that I would follow you to the afterlife if you were ever so cruelly ripped from my arms."

They don't have many stolen moments. Naevia likes to think it's enough, enough to see him from the balcony. But it breaks her heart when Crixus looks at her on the balcony, and Domina mistakes it to be a smile for her. Naevia dreams of pushing Domina from the balcony, punishing her for what she has done to Crixus, punishing her to condemning her to this life, punishing her for what happened to Diona. But she calms herself down, she thinks of the short moments with Crixus, when he makes love to her, when he talks about his life in Gallia. His brothers, who always mocked him, but still loved him dearly. His mother, who was deadly with a spear, and his father who was always quick to laugh. And Naevia wishes she could tell Crixus about her family. But she can only tell him about Diona. How she loved life, how she hoped and dreamed. For a long while she cannot tell him what became of Diona, even when he asks, wondering why Diona is no longer in this house. But in time she trusts the story to him, for she loves him. For he is the reason she dreams, of a life outside of this house. Of freedom.

He counts his coins. He has plenty. He has not wasted it on drink and women. He performs poorly for weeks when Domina calls for him. She no longer sends for him. And he wonders why he hasn't thought of this earlier. But he reminds himself, of the fear, Domina's voice, commanding him. For he is still just a slave. He had feared her punishment, had feared that if he would not please her, she would find it in her to make her husband send him away. But he no longer cares. For now going away is a goal, not a punishment. For a long time the sands were his only purpose, but no longer. He is happy to give up the glory, the honor, to see Naevia walk free, with no shackles weighing her step.

He talks of freedom, but she cannot make herself believe him. It is just a dream, a distant dream. And she wants it so badly, yet she refuses to wish for it, to really want it. Dreamers end up dead, she has seen it. But the thought of his arms freely around her, the thought of a life where they do not have to fear for someone finding out, a life where they can grow old, together.

"Someday I will spill inside you," Crixus smiles sadly, as he once again pulls out just in time. And that's when she realizes what he wishes for. A family. Something she has not dared to dream of. But he starts whispering about it. And she finds herself yearning for it too.

He goes to see the Dominus. Oenomaus comes with him. Crixus has a lot of coin, but he still fears he will not be able to get Naevia with him. He is almost certain Dominus will let him go, for he is still not in his best strength, he is not fighting in any primus, only in smaller more meaningless matches, he is still not yet fully healed. And now Dominus has Spartacus, the bringer of the fucking rain. He does not need Crixus, and even Domina will not object, not anymore, she hasn't summoned Crixus in weeks. But Naevia, how will he ever get Domina to give away her precious slave. But he wishes that enough coin for the Dominus, and he will not care what Domina thinks.

And that is exactly how it goes. Crixus brings up his freedom. Dominus is not happy, but he has his Spartacus, and has not favored Crixus in a long time. And he sees the fear in Dominus' eyes, the fear that he will never fight like he used to fight. He sees Dominus thinking, thinking that it's better to take the coin and be rid of him. And Naevia. Dominus does not care for the girl, but he hesitates, for his wife. But the hesitation comes to a halt when Crixus places his purse on Dominus' hand. It's heavy, and from the look in his former Dominus eyes, he can see that it is far more than Batiatus had ever deemed her worth. But Crixus knows better. She worth more than all the county in all of fucking Rome.

He has bought them freedom. They are _free._ She cannot believe it. She still cannot believe it when she takes of the collar, her ankle rings, and changes her dress for something more sensible. She still cannot believe it when Crixus grasps her hand, not when the gates open, not when she sees all of Capua at their feet. But she believes it when Crixus kisses her softly and whispers to her ear.

"We are free."

Gallia is like a dream. When he looks around him, it is like he had never left, like he dreamed the time he spent as a slave. But then he feels Naevia squeeze his hand, smile to him, and place a sweet kiss on his hand. That is when he thanks the gods, thanks the god that he got here, that everything bad that ever happened to him, led him here, with this woman. For there is nothing more than he could ask for. The gods have given him her love and freedom. They have given him everything.

It's not an easy life they lead. They have been free for a year. Sometimes she looks at Crixus and wonders if he misses the glory of the arena. His life was so much more exciting then. Naevia may not have all the comforts that she had in the villa, but she is used to working. Now she cooks, picks vegetables, tends to their goats, but now Crixus is with her. And they are free. And there is nothing more she could ask for.

"Do you miss the sands, Crixus?" she asks one day when she pulls a carrot from the ground. He turns to her and smiles.

"I do. But no glory on the sands would ever feel as good as being free with you." And she kisses him, grabs the front of his breeches, makes him laugh at first, then moan with pleasure. It truly is freedom, to have dirt in the most uncomfortable places, but not caring, for she is with the one person she loves in this life.

Something changes. She looks off. And one morning she cannot keep food in her stomach. Crixus is worried sick. He doesn't know what to do. He fears that it is something bad, something that will take her away from his arms. He searches the village for a healer. She comes and tends to Naevia, trying to make him stand outside, but he refuses, no one can keep him away from her. Crixus fidgets, watches as she examines Naevia. Then she smiles.

"Stop smiling, woman, and tell us what is wrong."

"Nothing is wrong, you foolish man. Unless you don't want to be a father," she smiles. And he cries, for he is so happy. And Naevia laughs at him, but it doesn't stop him from crying. For they are free, and their child will only know freedom, he promises.

Naevia never wants to do this again. And she tells that to Crixus repeatedly through the months her belly continues growing, making her every move, even her sleep, uncomfortable. She tell him, and curses him for doing this to her. He tries to hide his amusement, but he does it poorly. And then the pains start. It's so bad that she begs Crixus to take her from this world. The midwife tries to make him leave, but he refuses, and she refuses to let him go. He is there every minute, hearing her every curse, and he is calm, and he tells her he loves her and their baby, and it will all be better soon. And she screams to him that they will never have another child.

But then she is in her arms. And she is bloody, but perfect. She can't believe they made her. Crixus looks at her, then at the baby. And he's crying. And then she's crying. And their beautiful free baby is crying too.

His girls. He watches as the baby suckles on her mother's teat. And he doesn't know what he would do without them. He wonders how he ever lived without them. Those two are his life. And he remembers how he used to miss the sands, miss the feeling when the crowd roared his name. But now, all he needs is Naevia calling his name, and the two month old Diona making fussy noises as she sleeps. Sometimes Crixus sits by her crib, the one he build for her, and just watches her sleep. For he is afraid that if he doesn't watch over her, something bad will happen. He used to fear becoming a lifeless man, living bit still dead. Now he fears that the gods will take away his baby. But they won't. Crixus gets to see her take her first steps, hear her first words, he gets to be there. And it makes him happier than anything else in this world.

Their life is not always easy. Sometimes it is very hard. Sometimes she swears she hates Crixus, but she doesn't, not really, not even when he drops their precious new born. And even though Naevia swore to never to do it again, she is with a child again, two years after Diona's birth. After Diona comes Doileag, And she looks just like her father. After her comes Ceana, and her eyes are green when she is born. Naevia starts to worry that they will not have any sons. But she should not have feared, for three years after Ceana comes a son. Sòlas they call him, after Crixus father.

And they are happy. Free. Their children get to run outside, yell, they don't have to worry. Her girls will get to grow. Their childhoods will never be ripped away from them like hers was, they will never have to wear the broken look in their eyes like Diona had, so many years ago, when she was still a girl. Sòlas does not have to walk into the arena like his father once did, and she thanks the gods for it. For her son is not interested in fighting. He is a sweet boy, and loves everything beautiful. It is Doileag who at the age four grabs her father's sword and almost cuts of Ceana's head in the process. She is the one Crixus teaches to use the sword. He teaches their other children as well, but they never take interest, not like Doileag.

Sometimes Naevia thinks she should have named her third girl Diona instead of the first, for Ceana is the one who reminds her of Diona, making up stories, dreaming, sneaking to the village to meet some boy. Her first born, Diona, is like her father. Diona looks exactly like Naevia, but is just like Crixus.

It amazes her, how she and Crixus built a life for them, and how they managed to make four such beautiful children. And it never ceases to amaze, not even when the afterlife claims her.

When he looks back to his life, he tries to remember when everything changed. Perhaps it was the day the Romans butchered his family and took him to Rome. Perhaps it was the day he arrived to Capua, perhaps the day he realized being a gladiator would bring him purpose, perhaps it was the day he noticed the girl on the balcony. Or perhaps it was the day when he realized he loved her.

 _Love,_ he thinks to himself. _It must have been love._


End file.
